It's the Thought That Counts
by twitchy witch
Summary: By request, a sequel to "Christmas Gets Pixed."  How does Rachel explain that mix-up to Al?


_By popular request: a sequel to "Christmas Gets Pixed." You really ought to read that one first. :)  
_

**It's the Thought That Counts**

"Jenks pranked us," Rachel said without preamble, when Al picked up the line the next evening.

_I beg your pardon?_

You, uh, got the wrong gift. I've got your real present right here." Rachel had decided that sooner was better than later when it came to damage control, so she wasn't going to leave it for their next lesson. And she was trying to play it as cool as possible, like giving her lusty demon a black leather whip from Victoria's Dungeon was no big deal. "You got Ivy's."

_Oh._ She sensed his disappointment. _ I admit I was rather surprised._ He paused, suddenly amused. _You got this lovely leather for Ivy instead of me? That's even more surprising, my itchy witch._

Rachel felt a headache coming on. "It was a joke, Al. You know I don't swing that way."

_Are you certain there's no Freudian implications to this little mistake, my itchy witch?_

At least he wasn't pissed, she thought, relieved. "Give me a break, Al. You know I don't swing _your_ way, either," Rachel said wryly. "Look, do you want the real present or not?"

As she'd expected, he snapped the connection and the kitchen filled with the scent of burnt amber as he coalesced before her. And yes, she noted, he'd brought the whip. He obviously thought it was the bee's knees, the way he kept tapping it against his thigh. She also noted that he was sporting riding boots as well, completing the ensemble, and couldn't help but smile.

"Here," she said, holding out the wrapped book. "Happy Solstice, Al."

He gave her an elegant bow, accepted the gift, and tore into it without hesitation. His eyes lit up when he saw the book, as she'd known they would. If a demon could love anything, Al loved his books, cooed and fussed over them as if they were children. She saw him give her a brief, questioning glance under his lashes as he leafed through the ancient pages. He snapped the book shut abruptly, straightening and fixing her with a severe glance. "And you're just _giving_ this to me? No strings attached?"

"Yes," she said, feeling a little embarrassed now. "You've kept your end of the deal. So far. So, thanks."

He was obviously trying to hide how pleased he was under a frown. "It's a valuable text," he warned.

"Well, yeah- it's got to be really old. I couldn't even figure out the language and that preservative spell on it is pretty tough. But it's not in Latin, and I sure as hell am not learning another language any time soon, so..."

He harrumphed with appreciation, then looked from the book to the riding crop. "I'm still not giving_ this_ back," he said.

Rachel burst out laughing. "All right, I admit it suits you. The joke was getting old, anyway. Go ahead and keep it."

He grinned, and for a moment it was a genuine smile. But sincerity couldn't survive long on a demon's lips, so it soon twisted with mischief. "And what should I give you, my itchy witch...?"

Rachel's grin faded. "I don't want anything," she said quickly.

"Oh, come now. Everyone wants _something_."

This was sounding familiar. Oh, yeah...her conversation with Minias. That had ended with her having to cut him, ugh. "Honestly, Al, I don't want anything."

"Nothing at all?" he asked teasingly, drawing the tip of the crop along her cheek.

"Hit me with that thing and I'll make you eat it," she warned.

"Is that a threat or a promise?" he purred. He was doing it again, invading her personal space, and she found the counter top at her back again. She folded her arms and tried to look annoyed instead of frightened.

"Stop that," she scolded. "If this is how you act after I try to do something nice for you-"

"I merely want to do something nice for you in return." Her pulse raced as he leaned in, and she leaned back. "I have the perfect gift for you, my itchy witch. Will you accept a gift from me?"

She swallowed hard, throat gone dry. She tried to even out her breathing, knowing it was pointless and that her discomfort was broadcasting loud and clear. "Wh-what is it?"

"Tsk, tsk," he said softly, "No peeking until you accept. I promise...you'll_ love_ it. I thought _long_ and _hard_ about it."

Her mouth opened and closed a few times before she could find words. "I...really, I don't...I don't want anything, honest."

"Are you absolutely sure?" he breathed in her ear, making her jump. "I know what you want, and I can give it to you." She shivered as he barely brushed a gloved finger over her vampire scar, not triggering it, simply reminding her that he _really_ knew how to work it. "You'll thank me afterward," he added.

"Al!" She finally caved and gave him an exasperated shove. Or rather, she put her hands on his chest and pushed, though it was no more effective than shoving a bulldozer. "Cut it out!"

He chuckled and stepped away, smug at having won. He threw up his palms in surrender, grinning fit to bust at having goaded her into a reaction. "All right, all right. I had a feeling you'd say that. I brought a backup." He handed her a package he'd brought from behind his back. It was heavy, about the size and shape of a brick. "Happy Solstice, itchy witch."

Only an idiot would accept a freebie from a demon, Rachel thought, but then, he'd trusted her enough to tear into her package without checking for traps, so she gingerly peeled off the burnt-amber scented foil with only a brief, skeptical look at him. Inside was something hard and lumpy under a layer of plastic wrap. She held it up and examined it quizzically, and suddenly burst out laughing. "_Fruitcake_?" she asked. "You got me a _fruitcake_, Al?"

He shrugged. "I've never given a solstice gift before. I looked it up. It's apparently a popular gift." His thick lips were pressed tight, letting only a small smirk escape. "Nice and...safe."

Rachel laughed again, getting out a plate on which to set it. Should she try it? Should she offer him some? Did anyone ever_ eat_ a fruitcake? "Thanks."

"Yes, well, you might want to try it first, before you thank me," he said wryly. "I made it myself, after all, and you know my culinary skills center around black curses and grilled cheese. And for some _unfathomable _reason, Pierce refused to be of assistance."

She blinked as she was assailed by the scent of brandy. Wow, he'd really soaked that sucker, hadn't he? "Aw, that's sweet, Al," she said, with genuine pleasure. "You made me...a...cake." She trailed off, turning around to see his wicked, wicked grin.

"I still think you'd have appreciated the first gift more," he said, ruining the moment with his leer. "I thought I'd remove that dreadful tattoo you've been bitching about all year."

"My tat...wait, what?" Rachel's mood turned into outrage in an instant. "You're joking!"

"Didn't I say I knew what you wanted? That you'd thank me?"

Rachel stared at him, mouth open in shock. "You would have...taken off your mark? Because I gave you a _whip_?"

"I wouldn't have done if you'd_ asked_ me to," he said airily. Rachel just kept staring at him, lost for words. "Oh, come now, nobody just gives a gift for_ free_, dove. I was certain you wanted _something_ from me. I just wasn't certain _what. _But you turned down my first offer and accepted the cake, so what does _that _say?"

"But...I...wait..." Rachel checked herself and glared at him. "You're just messing with me," she said irritably. "You wouldn't have."

He shrugged again. "I might have. I thought about it. Briefly. And you know what they say." He leered at her again, and she shrieked with surprise as he smacked her ass with the riding crop. "It's the _thought_ that counts."

"_AL_!" She made a grab for the whip, but he was already gone in a very cheeky puff of smoke.


End file.
